The Invariable Man
by IcyKali
Summary: Lenny decides he needs his own identity (away from Carl), and enlists the help of the Simpsons in discovering his special talent. Meanwhile, Lisa finds herself new mentor in the form of Professor Frink. Rated 'T' to be safe.


_**Author's Note**: Hello! I wrote this story for a few reasons, the main one being that many people consider Lenny to be an uninteresting Simpsons character._

_The title is a play on 'The Variable Man', by Philip K. Dick. I thought it was appropriate, because it's about specialization and such._

_I haven't written much fanfiction, and this is my first ever Simpsons one, so constructive criticism will be helpful._

_Enjoy!_

**The Invariable Man**

The Springfield Nuclear Power Plant was having a meeting of all senior employees in the auditorium, as ordered by Mr. Burns, and as usual, Homer, Carl, and Lenny were sitting next to each other. The workers weren't all that happy, because last time there was a senior employee meeting, Mr. Burns had tried to cut their salaries in half in exchange for giving everybody little novelty erasers in fun shapes.

"I still think we passed up a great deal that time," grumbled Homer.

The lights dimmed, and Mr. Burns walked out onto the stage, followed by Mr. Smithers.

"Greetings, all my senior mooks! One of you is getting lucky tonight," Burns spoke into the microphone.

Everybody in the audience snickered.

"What? What is so amusing to you?" Burns asked, annoyed. Smithers whispered something in his ear, which made Burns scowl.

"I swear," Burns said, "this entire generation is perverted!"

"In any case, I require one of you to act as spokesperson for my Plant at a convention on alternative energy sources in North Haverbrook. That area is a blank slate, ready to be convinced by our brainwashing.

"Alright, let's see here, too ugly, too fat, get your finger out of your nose—" Burns slowly began looking over everyone in the audience. He pointed at Carl.

"You there," he said, "Carlson. You will be my new spokesman!"

Carl stood up. "Was it my years of dedicated service that made you pick me, sir?" he asked, obviously very proud of himself.

"Ah, yes, of course," said Burns, but then he whispered to Smithers, "Listen, if we choose a negro man to represent us, we'll be ahead of the game!" Smithers did not look impressed.

"Mr. Carlson," said Burns, "you will be given a hotel room in North Haverbrook, and you will leave tonight. Smithers will give you the details. The meeting is over."

People began leaving the auditorium, but Carl, Lenny, and Homer remained behind.

"This is the perfect opportunity to impress Mr. Burns," said Carl happily. "Maybe I won't be stuck in this monotonous job for as long I thought. That's my word of the day: this."

"Aw, now I don't have an excuse not to go shopping for Marge tomorrow," moaned Homer.

"Well, don't forget us slackers when you rise to the top!" said Lenny.

"Nah, I'll never forget my humble roots. The only question I have is, can you survive me being gone for a few days?" answered Carl.

"What? Of course I'll survive. You really don't think I have nothing better to do than hang out with you, right? I have a life outside of you."

* * *

Lenny had pretty much turned over his house trying to think of what he could do with his time. It was still too early to go to Moe's (Lenny liked to believe that he had a life outside of drinking), and there wasn't anything good on the tube, but his friends were either already at the bar, or had their own schedules to deal with.

"Well, I could always do something utterly pointless, like look through the pictures on my cell phone," he said. "Let's see—wait, these are all of me and Carl! Let's see, Carl, Carl, Carl, Carl… wait, there's my ex-girlfriend Doreen—whom I left so I could spend more of my time with Carl! It's like I don't have a life outside of him!"

* * *

Meanwhile, at 742 Evergreen Terrace, another person whose name starts with 'L' was having problems of her own. Lisa was trying her very best to meditate on her bed, but her father and her troublesome brother were constant distractions.

"You see, boy, you can tell you're really clean when your finger makes a farting sound against your skin."

"Thanks, Homer!"

Lisa wondered why she couldn't have a good role-model in her own family. Her father was lazy and dumb, and didn't do anywhere near enough to motivate Lisa in her mind, Bart was a juvenile delinquent, and her mother was often far too complacent, and not 'liberal' enough for Lisa's tastes.

"I wish I had someone to really look up to," thought Lisa out loud, "somebody smart, who supports my beliefs, somebody who supports women's rights…."

She walked downstairs, where Marge was baking some cookies.

"I'm baking some cookies for your father, for when he gets injured later today," explained Marge.

"But you don't know that dad will get injured," said Lisa.

"Believe me, I know."

Lisa sighed, went outside, and got on her little flower-print bicycle.

"I'm going to Bookaccino's!" Lisa called out to Marge.

"Alright, honey, but be back in time for dinner!"

* * *

After Lisa left for the café/bookstore, the doorbell at the Simpsons' house rang. Marge went and opened it, and there was Lenny, looking somewhat nervous.

"Hello, Lenny! I presume you're looking for Homer?" asked Marge.

"Yeah, I need some help," said Lenny.

"Well… come on in, Lenny, but I'm warning you, if this is about 'accidentally' throwing away your medication—"

Lenny came inside, entered the living room, and saw that Homer was strangling his only son once again.

"Hey Homer," said Lenny.

"Oh, hey Lenny," said Homer, letting go of Bart, who sat down to listen in on their conversation. "Is it time to go to Moe's already?"

"Nope, not that. I need your help," Lenny said. "Homer, what are my talents? I can't think of even one."

"Your talents, huh? Hm, well, you can really hold your Duff!"

"Yeah, but you and Barney can do it way better."

"You can bowl pretty well."

"Yeah, but Carl's better than me."

Marge, who had been listening as well, put a hand on Lenny's shoulder.

"I'm sure you have lots of potential, Lenny," she said. "In fact, why don't we do some activities together, today? Maybe you'll find that your calling's right under your nose!"

"Wait, Marge!" said Homer, happily. "I thought of a talent! Lenny, you're dumb and naïve."

"So are you, Homer."

"D'oh!"

* * *

Meanwhile, Lisa was riding through the city, nearly at Bookaccino's, when she noticed a large billboard rising above the skyline of buildings. She paused to look at it; it was advertising a new-fangled sun-tan lotion of some sort, and it had a picture of a remarkably disproportionate swim suit model on a beach.

"Ugh," Lisa remarked. "That has so obviously been photoshopped. And it's also sexist! Incredibly sexist! I wish somebody would chang—huh?"

While she ranted, a beam of light encompassed the billboard, and then the model's body became normally proportioned. Lisa forgot her plans to go to the bookstore, and immediately started riding to the billboard.

When she got to the base of it, she saw what looked like an oddly flat camera on a tripod, but nothing else. Lisa went up to the camera-thing and started studying it, and then she heard a familiar voice.

"Ah, hello Lisa, young lady. I see you are fascinated by my wonderful new invent-tion—glavin." From behind the props of the billboard, out walked none other than Professor Frink.

"Professor Frink! Your machine changed this ad?" asked Lisa.

"Why, yes, this machine is designed to transform cultural propaganda into something less con-trolling!" answered Frink in his bizarre, sing-song-y voice.

"That's great, but I didn't know you were also a supporter for women's rights," said Lisa.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat, "when you are of the nerd-ly type like I am, and have so much trouble getting a girl to notice you, you appreciate them more, ng-hey."

Lisa felt a funny, warm feeling coming over her; she realized she had found her new role model.

* * *

The Simpson family, minus Lisa, decided to take Lenny to the Springfield Mall. There were so many pointless activities to be found there, they figured that one of them must be destined to be for him. The Simpsons decided to let each family member pick an activity to try out.

"Alright, Lenny, what you want is a masculine talent, and I've got just the thing," said Bart.

"Is there a risk of terrible, debilitating injury?" asked Lenny.

"Of course there is!"

"Alright!" said Lenny, perking up. "I'm in!"

Bart led them to the Springfield Martial Arts Academy, where the local sushi chef, Akira, taught karate classes.

"Now why didn't you stay with karate, Bart?" asked Marge.

"Uh…" said Bart nervously, "I'm amazing enough as it is. I wouldn't want too much of an unfair advantage over everybody else."

Marge looked somewhat skeptical about that. The four of them (Marge, Lenny, Bart, and Maggie—Homer had run off to the food court) entered the dojo. When they got in, they saw that Akira had apparently just finished teaching his class, as he was putting some mats against the wall.

"Ah, hello, Simpsons and companion. Where is Mr. Homer?" asked Akira.

"Oh, he's just eating some free samples at the food court," Marge replied. "I'll go get him. You handle this, Bart."

"Who is this man?" asked Akira, pointing to Lenny.

"Oh," said Bart, "he's here to challenge you! He's a black-belt in, uh, kung pao!"

"Kung pao, you say," said Akira gravely, getting into a fighting stance. "I cannot let this young upstart take my place as martial arts master of Springfield! I accept his challenge!"

Lenny was meanwhile sweating and quivering in fear, but Bart shoved him into the room. Akira quickly executed a flying kick straight to Lenny's face, knocking him down.

"Ow, my eye!" yelled Lenny. "It's not supposed to get feet in it!"

* * *

Lisa had gone with Professor Frink back to his house. She had convinced him to let her see some of his works; Frink never could resist teaching someone scientific information, especially such a bright, eager, student.

"Now, Lisa, before we do anything, make sure you remember the rhyme: do like you oughta, and add acid to water— m-ha-hai! Especially remember when you have a highly concentrated acid. Many aspiring scientists have lost their sight doing the opposite."

Lisa giggled. _He's better than Bill Nye, _she thought. Frink led her to a futuristic-looking chair, with a dome over it.

"This is one of my most successful inventions, Lisa. The machine allows you to re-live your old memories," he said.

"That's great, Professor," Lisa said. "It sounds like it could be great for psychologists; they could find repressed memories easily. I just wish it didn't look so much like an electric chair."

"Why that's a brilliant idea, Lisa—The part about the psychology. But also the other thing, the electric chair, with the frying and the punishment and the unfortunate implications…."

As Frink started to ramble on about nothing in particular, another invention caught Lisa's eye. In the corner of the room, she saw something that looked like a TV remote, but it was labeled 'age-ifier' with a plaque.

"Say, Frink," Lisa said, pointing to the age-ifier. "What does that do?"

"Oh, that—ng-hoyin! It just artificially ages a living thing with a beam. Sadly, I can only seem to use it once on a subject. Why, why do you ask?"

"So, could it make me older or younger, for instance?" Lisa asked, with growing excitement.

"Why, yes, yes it could," Frink said, somewhat puzzled.

Lisa was elated._ With that invention, _she thought, _I could join real classes, with teachers who actually want to teach me_!

"Er, Lisa," said Frink, snapping her out of here reverie, "what do you want to age with that?"

Lisa smiled, and answered, "With that machine, I'll be the age that matches my maturity level! Nobody really takes my intelligence seriously because I'm a little girl, but if I'm older, I could show everyone, even my parents, that I—"

"I'm afraid I can't let you use that, Lisa. It's off-limits," said Frink, oddly harshly for him.

"Off-limits? Because I can't go back? Well, fine. See you later, Frink," Lisa said, impatiently, and she stormed out, slamming the door.

Frink watched her leave, and sighed.

* * *

Some time after the dojo-incident, Lenny, now with eye patch, was back at the Simpson house. They had decided that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to look for things to do at the Springfield Mall, and that it was an especially idea to leave Bart alone with Lenny.

"Okay, Lenny," said Homer. "Now I know you must be traumatized from that, but I know just the thing you can do!

"Ah, what is it, Homer? I trust you, unlike your horrible, horrible, demon spawn," he said.

"Oh yeah," said Homer, amused. "You'd be surprised how often Bart does that to people. Especially to the Principal."

"Homer…" Marge got ready to nag him, but Homer kept going.

"Anyway," he said, "you're going to learn to cook! That way, when I'm hungry in town, I can go to Krusty Burger™, and when I'm hungry at home, I can go to Marge, and if I'm hungry at the Plant, I can go to you!"

"Well Homer," said Lenny, "I can already cook—"

"You can? How could you not tell me something that could make my life so much better? You terrible friend!"

"Ahem, Homie," said Marge, trying to calm him down, but also correct him at the same time. "Lenny's looking for something that makes his special talent, and there are already many chefs here in Springfield. Why don't I choose something, instead?"

"Well, okay Marge," said Homer, and then he whispered into her ear, "but make sure it's not something too cool. I don't want him looking too much better than me."

Lenny was able to hear that, and was not amused.

"Ah, just ignore Homer. I'm sure he really does want to help. Anyway, I think you should try out the visual arts. I used to do a lot of painting when I was younger, and I'm sure that women love an artist." Marge giggled.

"That's a good idea," said Lenny, happily. "I used to do art when I was a kid."

Marge opened up the closet, and got out her old painting supplies. She even had extra canvases, in case of painting emergency (Homer often ended up destroying their painting of the sailboat). She set up a stool and got out a vase of flowers, for still life work.

"I'll be your art teacher, Lenny," said Marge. "Show me your skills by painting those flowers."

"Well, okay…" Lenny starting painting the vase; he had a great advantage, since he didn't have to close one eye to gauge distance. A little while later, when he was about halfway done, Marge started having second thoughts about the whole thing.

_Oh, no, _she thought, _that looks pretty darn good, and if he ends up better than me, Homer won't think I'm the best artist in his life._

"Er, Lenny," said Marge, "I think you have a perspective mistake here." She reached out and painted over one of the flowers, making it face the wrong direction.

"Hmm," said Lenny, skeptically. "Eh, you're the Boss-lady."

Then, Marge splattered extra white paint all over the canvas.

"You needed some more texture in the piece," said Marge, lying through her teeth.

By the time they were finished, Marge had added blobs of contrasting color to the painting, claiming it was for extra 'pop', and generally just made it look like a complete mess.

"Hey Homer, what do you think of my work of art?" called Lenny.

Homer looked at it. "It looks like what hobos eat at the homeless shelter after all the edible stuff is gone. Uh, not like I was ever a hobo," Homer said, his eyes shifting back and forth.

Lenny sighed. "I guess I'm not cut out to be a painter, either."

* * *

Lisa had actually ended up going to Bookaccino's after all, and she got curled up in one of those big comfy plush chairs bookstores have, but as she was reading a book of fairy stories (not the edited versions, for shame), all she could think of was how much better her life would be if she could just be older. As she was stretching her neck, she happened to notice Professor Frink walking down the street outside the store.

Lisa gasped. _If he isn't at home, maybe I could_—_no, it's wrong to break into people's homes!_ She thought, _but… maybe Frink would understand my transgression if I became a world-renowned scientist or author using his machine? Yes, I'm sure he would. _Lisa rationalized, and ran out of the store. She hopped on her bicycle, which was parked outside, and headed for his house.

When she got there, she walked up to the door, and tried to figure out how to best break in, when suddenly a neon-green beam shot out from nowhere. Lisa heard a robotic voice say: "HOSTILE INTENTIONS DETECTED. PROTECTIVE MEASURES ACTIVATED."

Another green beam shot through the air, and Lisa screamed and ducked. When she did, it actually hit Frink's door, and where it had hit, a hole appeared. A hole large enough for Lisa to squeeze through, and squeeze through she did.

Lisa walked quietly through the house, slowly making her way to the age-ifier, and when she did, she quickly swung her arms wide out in delight, unfortunately hitting a ray-gun of some sort. It made a whirring sound and turned itself on.

"Uh oh," said Lisa.

A bright light streamed out of the gun, which focused on a bubbling beaker of chemicals sitting on a wooden table. The chemicals became heated, exploded, and set fire to the table.

The fire spread through the house, and Lisa, terrified and not seeing anything to put out a chemical fire, only had time to run back outside before the whole house became covered in tall flames. Lisa was traumatized, and was staring at the fire in horror, when Frink walked back to his house.

"Ah, hello Lisa, I see you've let off some steam, would you like to come back… inside…. Ironic, I just came back after getting some new lab coats, I needed to replace ones I damaged in a fire." Frink looked at Lisa, who seemed really upset; she looked like she would burst into tears any minute.

"Oh, Professor, I'm so sorry! I really wanted to grow older, I thought you'd understand, I broke in and I'm truly sorry and I accidentally hit something and started a fire and if I can make it up to you…" Lisa started to ramble, like guilty children often do.

"I see, well, I have to say I am very disappointed in you, Lisa, but you gave me a reason to test my new invention!" Frink pulled out something that looked like a garage opener from one of his pockets.

"N-new invention?" sniffed Lisa.

Frink pointed the thing at the charred remains of his house, and a whole new house began to unfold from the middle of the ashes, until it looked like Lisa had never burned it down.

"You see, Lisa, I accidentally start fires all the time, so I created this inflammable, by which I mean NOT flammable and not FLAME-ABLE, cube, you see? When I push this button on this here remote—pressing! It creates a new version of my house, and it's almost indistinguishable from the original."

"I'm glad to see that," Lisa said, wiping some tears away. "Can you accept my apologies?"

"I can. What you did was obviously wrong, but I suppose I should explain just why I didn't want you using my invention.

"You see, Lisa, when I was your age, I was alienated from everyone else just like you are now, because I was ever so nerdy.

"Because the little children in the schoolyard—ga-hoyvin! With the playing and the picking on the ones you like and the being annoyed at homework, didn't accept me as one of their own, and my parents did not understand my geek-y desires as well, I was forced out of my childhood very fast. I matured very quickly, as I had nobody to play with like little ones should.

"Uh, but enough about me. What I'm getting to is, you shouldn't be so quick to throw away your childhood. Believe me, you can never get that innocent, playful, happy feeling—oh, so beautiful, back. Take the advice of a middle-aged nerd who'll never have it again."

Lisa was moved by the story, and smiled. "I believe you, Professor. I won't give up on being a little girl just yet."

"That's wonderful, Lisa. Now, why don't you try out my hoverbike? I can en-smallen my protective gear to fit you with my shrink ray. I just hope you don't mind the special protective undergarments."

"Sounds great, but protective underwear? Why do I need that to ride the hoverbike?"

"I'm afraid that do to unforeseen aspects, it will cause a women riding it unprotected to lose their—glavin! virginity..."

* * *

"Well, Simpsons, thanks for helping me today, but I'd better get back home. I need to rest up before going to Moe's later. I can find my life's calling any day," said Lenny.

"Yeah, drinking is hard work," said Homer.

Lenny left the house, got into his car, and drove off. Homer wanted to run to the kitchen to get a snack, but Marge stopped him.

"Homer, didn't Lenny look a little… dejected to you? Maybe you ought to go comfort him," she said.

"What? My friends having feelings? Marge, that's crazy talk. When's food going to appear?" Homer started poking around, apparently looking for a steak that might just happen to be there.

"Well, tomorrow I'm going to go bring him some nice flowers to cheer him up, if you're not going to." Marge went outside.

* * *

The next day, Marge got to Lenny's house, but when she knocked on the door, rang the doorbell, tapped on a window, and knocked on the door again, there was no response. When she tried turning the doorknob, however, the door opened. The house wasn't in disarray, so Marge walked to the door of Lenny's living room, which was open, and she saw him sitting on the couch in front of his plasma TV.

"Lenny? It's Marge, I brought you a little present. Lenny?"

"Hm? Oh, hi Homer's wife," said Lenny, looking up. "Did you ring the doorbell? Sorry if I didn't hear. I was watching TV with the volume kinda high."

"Lenny, the television isn't even on!"

Lenny just stared at her, and didn't answer, but his eyes drifted in different directions. His behavior was quickly starting to disturb Marge, but she grinned nervously.

"So, Lenny, I, uh, brought you these flowers. I thought maybe you were feeling a little depressed or frustrated earlier. I even brought you a vase with them."

Lenny just watched her intently.

"Well, nice seeing you today, but I guess I must be going now, heh." Marge slowly backed away, and opened the door, preparing to bolt.

"Wait, Marge," said Lenny, quickly. "I guess I am frustrated. The real reason I wanted to find my talent today, was that I want my own identity! I don't want to be Carl's wingman for life, except, you know, not for picking up women, just in general. I don't want to just be, you know—"

"A foil your whole life?"

"Right! I don't wanna be aluminum!" Marge just rolled her eyes, but Lenny seemed pretty serious. "In fact, I'm so mad, I could break this flower-thingy!" Lenny reached for the vase, and carefully arranged the flowers in a daring, bold fashion, with the tallest flower sticking up, but the more colorful flowers in the middle, as a sort of centerpiece.

"What was that?" asked Marge, dumbfounded.

"Oh, that? I've practiced flower arranging, or ikebana, for years. You know how I used to be a Buddhist, but I failed at meditation? Well, I woulda just quit going to the temple, but since Carl still went there, I just occupied myself with making the flower offerings look pretty instead of sitting around meditating."

"Lenny, I think you've found your special talent! You just did flower-arranging for so long, that you didn't realize it was special." Marge put her hands together in excitement. "Say, why don't you put together a whole bunch of these, and have your own show in our yard? I'm sure people would love to see your work."

Lenny thought about it. "Alright, I'll get crackin'. Tell Homer I won't be drinking with him tonight. You may have to give an excuse involving mountain lions."

* * *

Lenny worked on his flower arrangements long into the night, but he wasn't worried about staying up late, because so many nights of staying up until two in the morning drinking had almost certainly messed with his circadian rhythms permanently. He didn't have to worry about running out of vases, either; Marge, as it turned out, had a secret stash of them, so she could easily replace every single one that Bart or Homer broke.

Lenny was just thinking about replacing some zinnias with chrysanthemums, when he got a call on his cell phone. It identified the caller as Carl.

"Hey, Lenny. I just got back from that stupid conference. I'm outside Moe's right now. Homer told me that you were mauled by mountain lions, so I figured he was getting too annoying again. You want to go catch a movie, without him?"

Lenny was ready to jump at Carl's proposal, but, in a rare moment, stopped to think about it first. _If I decide to act like I always do, nobody will see how awesome I am alone! I need to play it cool to get, or whatever._

"Eh, I dunno, Carl, I'm really busy preparing for my flower arrangement exhibition, which I'm doing, by myself, that showcases abilities that are mine alone," Lenny said, conveying his thoughts 'subtly.'

"Uh, sure. Go ahead and do that." Carl hung up.

Lenny felt superior for that simple action. He got back to work and began to fantasize about his own awesomeness. _When people see this show, _he thought, _I'll become a king. A king of flower arranging! I'll be able to go to the clubs where the celebrities go. I won't have to drink at Moe's Tavern, that's dirty, and small, and way marked-up, where my best friends are and… and I won't have to work at the Power Plant, where Carl and I have so much fun, pranking Homer while he's sleeping at his station, or anything like that, again._

Lenny picked up his cell phone again, and called Carl.

"Hey again, Carl. Yeah, well, I still have a lot of work to do, and, maybe I can teach you how to do it, too. It'll be more fun not having to do it all alone. "

* * *

The next day, at the Simpsons' residence, in a very rare occurrence, things were going as planned. They had set up the flower show as an arrangement of tables with the vases on top of them, and although Homer and Bart had been unimpressed with the perceived femininity of Lenny's art-form, they also hadn't destroyed anything.

In fact, the set-up was quite nice looking, for something the Simpsons put together. There was a banner advertising it, that wasn't misspelled, and the colors of flowers drew attention away from the fact that the tables were really old, and falling apart.

"Well, it looks like there won't be any amusing incident that ruins everything," proclaimed Carl, tempting fate.

Just then, they all heard a little girl scream, and Lisa sped towards them, riding what looked like a red and blue motorbike. She made a U-turn and smashed into the exhibition. Things broke, and flowers flew into the air.

"Awesome!" said Bart. "Impermanent art rocks."

Lisa hopped off the bike. "Eh-heh, sorry about that, everyone. I guess I'm still not quite used to the brakes yet."

"Lisa, that was an awful thing you did! Now go apologize to Lenny. This was his work," said Marge.

Lenny, however, seemed unperturbed. He grabbed a small, purple, calla lily from the exploded art show and put it behind his ear.

Lenny turned to Lisa and her mother. "Nah, Marge, it's fine. I don't really care about being a hot-shot artist anyway." Lenny ran up to Carl. "Hey Carl, let's go see a movie now."

"Hey, wait," said Homer, "what about Moe's? You know I can't drink with just Barney! I mean, he's my best friend, but—"

"Eh, maybe later, Homer," said Carl, and he and Lenny both left.

When they were out of earshot of the Simpsons, Lenny quietly said, "There are some things that are more important to me than talents."

"What are you mumbling?"

"Nothing, Carl! Pick a movie with a long car-chase, and a lot of stuff blowing up in it."

"As if you had to tell me that."

Lenny and Carl high-five'd each other.

**~End**


End file.
